


Clint Barton the Underwear Thief

by Agent C (arh581958)



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Clint's a naughty boy, M/M, Pining, Scent Kink, UST, Underwear Theft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-05-03 18:59:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5303054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arh581958/pseuds/Agent%20C
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint Barton is a lot of things--ex-carnie, ex-merc, SHIELD-agent. He's also an underwear thief. Specifically, Phil Coulson's underwear thief. </p><p>Prompt: Clint has always had a crush on Phil from the moment he laid eyes on him. So needless to say being the bad boy that he is he stole a piece of clothing from him (I was going to say jock but don’t know how you want to write) and the story is Phil finding out, and then coming together.</p><p>(Or: Clint steals, Coulson suspects, things happen)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clint Barton the Underwear Thief

**Author's Note:**

> For [bkingson33](http://bkingson33.tumblr.com/) aka [Ink3rvk](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Ink3rvk/pseuds/Ink3rvk) who sent me the prompt on tumblr. I hope you like it! Thank you for the prompt!

So yeah. Clint has a teensy-tiny little crush on his handler. It's not all that bad nor against regulations---as long as he doesn't go anything. A couple of stolen glances here and there, camping out in the vent above Phil's office for security (and completely not stalker-ish) purposes, and helpless pining was alright. He doesn't hurt anyone and he never, ever, allows it to cause problems in the field or let it affect their working dynamics. He gets a random boner every now and then after a particularly physical Op. He resolutely blames it all on adrenaline.

It's not until their twenty-third (no, he isn't counting, because that's creepy) that he breaks his cardinal rule of _not_ acting on his baser impulses. They're in a safehouse in Tallin, Estonia, an apartment near a church with colourful onion-dome roofs. It's in the middle of the city, close to the market, nestled among several other similar buildings. A hiding place hidden in place sight---the best kind of safehouse.

It had been a long, bloody, exhausting mission. They had escaped by the skins of their teeth with only the clothes on their backs. Or, what remained of their tattered clothing. Phil's suit is forgotten on the floor, crumpled and fire-frayed, at the edge of the door while the man is taking a shower to remove the grime and dirt and ashes from his skin. What rouses Clint's attention is the stark-white fabric amidst the pile of charcoal black clothing---a jockstrap.

Apparently, and this is news to him because he only figures it out now, Phil J. Coulson the all-around badass with a fatally bland smile is hung enough to need a _jock_ strap underneath his suits (all his suits) to wear in the field. Clint briefly wonders if this is an everyday-thing or a mission-thing. He really wouldn't mind if it's the latter because Coulson in a jockstrap would make working together very, very difficult. He's half-distracted by the man already!

Fuck.

He knows it's wrong. Just imagining Coulson---no, it's Phil in the dirty recess of his mind--in that _skimpy little thing_ drives him crazy. He's by the door, holding the musk-scented fabric to his knows, before he even realizes that he's moved positions.

"Fuck" he groans, eyes falling closed, as he buried his face in the middle of the slightly damp fabric. Phil smells absolutely amazing. It's deep, dark, and musky. There's no hint of soap or cologne or perfume. It's Phil and sweat and something else that makes Clint hard within seconds. His stretchy tac-suit pants are suddenly a problem. They're stretched to their limits by Clint's iron-hard cock. The outline of the head is outlined by the tungsten lamplight. He has to fight himself from banging on the door and demanding Phil to fuck him right then and there.

Instead, he gathers the rest of Phil's clothing and dumps everything in the washer. He does, however, jerk himself off in the laundry area with the strap between his teeth and the cup covering his nostrils. He throws in his soiled and cum-stained clothes in with the rest and starts the cycle. The underwear, he keeps with the intention of future masturbation sessions back at base. He saunters out in a towel and the keepsake tucked expertly between his thighs.

Phil's already out and dressed in a spare suit. Clint gives him a salute and walks into the bathroom like nothing happened.

***

The next time have a mission together, Clint steals Phil's midnight blue tie which was frayed by the flamethrower when Phil was his regular badass-self. He then spends the rest of the day trying not to be distracted by the sparse dark chest hair peaking out of Agent Coulson's unbuttoned shirt. He wonders what it would be like open it the rest of way, un-tucking it from those tailored trousers, and running his hands up the older man's chest. He wants to know what it feels like to rub his face against the wiry follicles. He _needs_ to know if they'll leave friction burns on his cheeks.

"Agent Barton?" Coulson's voice breaks him from the fantasy.

Oh. Right. Debrief.

Clint chases all his dirty thoughts away.

"Sir?"

"Are you alright?" Coulson asks with a concern expression. "You seem... off. Do we need to get you to medical? You took quite a fall today from the tumble." He says with a frown, ticking something on the form that's attached to his clipboard.

It's standard post-mission activity. They're in his office which smells permanently of Coulson's scent and it makes Clint a little light-headed. Ever since he's started jacking-off with Coulson's underwear, he's become sensitized by the man's unique scent. It makes him ache and want and need. Now that he's inside a room that smells _exclusively_ of Coulson, all those things are multiplied. It's becoming... a problem.

In his jeans.

Thank you SHIELD angels for undercover work.

At least, it wasn't his form-fitting tac-suit.

"Yeah." He nods absentmindedly. "Medical."

Coulson lowers his pen and his clipboard in favour of staring at Clint intensely. The gaze burns right through Clint's defences and makes him even harder. It feels like the temperature in the room has risen exponentially, the air thick and tense, the clock suddenly deafening with every _tick_ and _tock_. For a minutes, Clint thinks that he's caught, that's he's going to get in trouble, that _Coulson's going to punish him_. But the man brings downs his chin in an affirmative.

"Medical, then." He takes out a slip from his desk drawer, signs it, and hands it to Clint. "Have them fill-out a report. I don't want my assets less than optimal on the field."

***

Clint completely avoids medical and beelines to his quarters. As a level four specialist, he's entitled to his own private bunk inside SHIELD HQ. It's small and windowless but it'll do in a pinch. After all, who needs a window when he's out-cold the second his face hits the pillow. He doesn't fall asleep immediately today. He's too hyped, too horny, and too hot to think about anything other than the hardness threatening to pop the seams. That'll be chaotic to explain.

He gets his pants and underwear down to his knees, back against the door, and hand covering his leaking erection even before he hears the click of the lock engaging.

"Oh fuck" he moans aloud as he fists his aching cock. Stupid Phil in his bespoke non-SHIELD-issue suits because he's too good for regular field uniform and too high up in the foodchain for other agents to complain. Stupid Phil and his goddamn steady voice assuring them they'll all make it home safe and making sure that everyone _does_ get home safe. Stupid Phil with his perfectionism, professionalism, and his patience. Stupid _fucking_ Phil Coulson for being the only one to look beyond his unsavoury past and treat him with nothing but respect.

This is what Coulson gets for being stupid---sexually objectified in Clint's fantasies because the archer cannot think of anything more desiring than Phil's voice and scent and---

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!" Clint picks-up his pace. He's too hard, too fucked-out, too distracted to hear the noises coming from the corridor. SHIELD may be a top-tier organization but they still experienced budget constraints and personnel living spaces weren't soundproof. "Oh god, Coulson, fuck." He mewls, forgetting all that pertinent information, and just going for it.

He sticks his fingers in his mouth and slathers them with saliva. He snakes his hand between his legs, touching his whole, and pushes in.

"FUUUUUCK." Clint cries out as he comes like Christmas came early this year. His orgasm rocks him. He jerks his head back so hard that he hits the wall. "Oh god" the explosion of pain on his skull isn't enough to deflate him.

He melts like putty onto the floor: ass-up, cheeks and shoulders pressed against the carpet, one hand stroking leisurely while the other pumps his whole. The tie, Phil's tie, sits a few inches from his face.

"Clint, what happ---" That's the scene that Phil witnesses when he barrages through the door. "---pened?" He stops, standing there in shock as he catalogues the surroundings. Clint may think that Phil is stupid, but really, he's not. It takes him less than a minute to put two-and-two together. He catches sight of the white fabric that peeks from under the pillow, clearly a half-assed attempt to hide it. Then, of course, the sight of Clint Barton, on his knees fucked-out and incoherent, in front of him.

"Oh" is the only thing he could say. Oh. It's like that. "Jesus, Barton."

**Author's Note:**

> I **might** have a Coulson-punishing-Clint-for-being-a-bad-boy scene. I don't know if I'll finish it though. 
> 
> #FinalsWeek 
> 
> OMG. SHIELD-angels, if you exists because I believe you do, inspire me to study. 
> 
> Oh yeah, got prompts? Send them [HERE](http://arh581958.tumblr.com/submit). As always, thank you for reading and I hope you liked it~


End file.
